“The bigger miracle, however, showed up a few days later: One of the people who listened to my DIY recording , someone I barely knew, offered me a generous seed money donation to get The MoonQuest audiobook project started at a local recording studios. My acting as though was making it so!”

The problem with suspending public posts about my Yellow Brick Road journey, which I did back on June 21 (Day 144), is that it’s hard to know what to say to fill in the gap, other than that I’m still here and still traveling. 

I’m on the right track. Is there anything more I need to know? There may be plenty more I want to know. But there’s nothing more I need to know. 

My mother, who died thirty-nine years ago tomorrow, would never have understood this journey I’m on, nor much of the life I have lived since her passing. She would have worried incessantly for my well-being, as mothers do, yet she would never have tried to persuade me to change course.

I think parts of me can’t quite believe that I’m here, that I did it, that after all these years and despite the fact that I’m still floating, California is now my home state. Officially.

The road ahead for me is looking less like a simple, straightforward path and more like Dorothy’s yellow brick road: winding, indirect and not-exactly challenge-free.

The harvest moon is seen as a time to reap the fruits of our past efforts...a time of abundance in all its forms…a time of endings and new beginnings. As such, this 25th anniversary of the harvest moon that first brought me here feels like the perfect moment to let go of the Sedona season that has enriched me in so many ways and to fully embrace a new one. Where am I going, when and why? As the storyteller I am, the only way I can answer those questions is with a story…

People are always commenting on my prolific creative output (20 books and five screenplays). But what you might not know is that I was a late bloomer. I didn't start writing my first book, "The MoonQuest," until I was 39, having spent many of the preceding years doing my best to avoid all things creative!

I had no choice: I would have to trust. Unconditionally. And I would have to reassure those fearful parts of me that I have always been taken care of. Even during those three harrowing months between Portland and Sedona, a 2019 journey I chronicle in Pilgrimage: A Fool’s Journey, I was never abandoned. There was always a miracle…then another…then another. I didn’t run out then. Why would I now?

Not for the first time, I'm finding it hard to dig beneath the surface impossibility of my current situation to get to the truth, which is that the intuitive vision of my wisest self has never let me down, even when disaster felt imminent. Why am I telling you this now? Because I need to hear it.

When I woke on 11/11 wondering whether I had used up my lifetime quota of miracles, I recalled an 11/11 dream of a few years back that helped me when my faith was equally challenged. It helped again that day.

In classic tarot iconography, the Fool is always represented accompanied by a small dog. On the Fool’s Journey I embarked upon, reluctantly and fearfully, back in May 2019, that dog was Kyri. I had rescued him eight months earlier in Portland, but he would rescue me daily through the 93 days of that open-ended road odyssey.

It was a journey that would carry me more than 20,000 miles across half a continent and through 14 states.